


Day 12: Serenade

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1980s, 1980s Era Queen (Band), Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dessert & Sweets, Fluff, Food Kink, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: You're so square, baby I don't care. . .
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	Day 12: Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct continuation of Day 4: Tease, but can probably be read as a stand alone. All of the drabbles, stories, and vignettes in this series are interconnected, and written for the Ineffable Valentines challenge on Tumblr.
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)

May 13, 1986

It’s been a while since he and Aziraphale had been out on the town. After the concert, Crowley had expected a polite “Thank you” (or maybe a “Never again!”) and a request to be dropped off near the bookshop (but not at it, so Aziraphale could remove his disguise before entering). Instead, Aziraphale turned to him as they were exiting, put his mouth up close to Crowley’s ear and nearly yelled, “Can we go somewhere and have a drink? And maybe a snack?”

Crowley had had quite a few drinks at the concert, but he was always up for more. And for spending more time with Aziraphale. Aziraphale worried and fretted about them being seen out together. Gabriel had been talking about upping surveillance again, about miracle quotas and the like. Every time Aziraphale came back from one of his Heavenly check ins he was always much more paranoid for a few years. Heaven had also increased the number of check ins in the last couple centuries. Now it was every 10 years. And even worse, Gabriel had started showing up at the bookstore every once in a while-- “random inspections”. It made for a very paranoid Aziraphale and generally meant that their social encounters were limited affairs, much to Crowley’s chagrin. 

They are ensconced in a booth in the back of a small Indian restaurant that primarily does takeaway curries. The fluorescent light bothers Crowley tremendously so he snaps his fingers and the light above their table goes out. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Less light makes it harder for any passing ethereal being to see you,” he says. “Not that I particularly want to hide my work of art.” He watches Aziraphale squirm and tells himself he absolutely positively will not flirt with him again for the rest of the evening, no matter how good he looks.  _ You go too fast for me.  _ Message received. It’s been almost twenty years, but Crowley has patience. 

Aziraphale orders a mango lassi, rice pudding and gulab jamun. Crowley asks for chai. The owner, a heavyset Indian woman in her fifties, brings the drinks. Crowley lights the cheap, neglected candle that’s been sitting on the table unused since the restaurant opened. She looks askance at him and Aziraphale, an open question on her face. Crowley nods his head towards the candle and the broken light above their heads, even though he’s the one who put the light out. She goes away without comment. 

Sitting in the booth, candlelight between them, Crowley stupidly wants to reach for Aziraphale’s hand.  _ If only you were just a human I could take home with me, _ he thinks. It’s easy to fall into that trap of a daydream, especially with Aziraphale dressed like this. The eyeliner looks magnificent on him. The jeans cling to his thighs, the rips showing teasing patches of creamy skin. Crowley wants to lick each one. Tongue his way through the shreds of fabric, and draw circles on Aziraphale’s skin. He thinks Aziraphale would be shocked at all the lascivious thoughts that go through his head whenever he’s within twenty feet of the angel. 

“Well, that was nice,” Aziraphale says pleasantly. 

Crowley lifts a corner of his mouth, incredulous. “You liked the concert?”

Aziraphale considers. “I liked . . . some of it.” 

Now that’s more of what he was expecting. “Some of it,” he nudges. He sips the chai. It’s a bit too sweet. 

“I could have done without all the people,” Aziraphale says honestly. “So many people all crammed in together. It was much too warm. I also could have done without the groping.”

Crowley nearly spits out his chai. “You were groped?!”

“You weren’t?”

Crowley’s eyebrows nearly reach his hairline, before he becomes suspicious. “Angel, please define groping for me.” 

“Oh, honestly,” Aziraphale says, irritated. “Just because I’m not up on all of the latest expressions doesn’t mean I don’t recognize words that have been around for centuries.”

“Cock tease,” Crowley says flatly. 

Aziraphale huffs. “I admit ignorance to that one. But I understand the difference between someone accidentally brushing by me and outright copping a feel.”

Crowley feels an unmistakable rush of blood to his nether regions upon hearing those words leave the angel’s lips. Would Aziraphale cop a feel? Ever? To him? He blows out a harsh breath to steady himself. “I’m sorry about that. Wasn’t my intention to get you all tarted up for abject human amusement.”

Aziraphale looks confused. “Why should you apologize? They have free will, if you recall. They can choose to behave in a civilized manner.”

“I get it, but I’m a demon, right? And I made you all… Tempting.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Did you ask the man behind us to unsubtly touch my rear three or four times? Or convince him it was wholly appropriate?” 

_ It’s a very nice rear,  _ Crowley thinks.  _ Especially in those jeans I’ve stuffed you into. _ He says, “I get your point.” 

“Did anyone grope you?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley can hear tension in the angel’s voice. 

Crowley shakes his head. “If they did, I didn’t notice.” 

Aziraphale visibly relaxes. Crowley files away that information for future fantasies. His possessive angel.  _ Oh what would you have done if I said yes? _ Crowley imagines Aziraphale leaping to his defense against some imaginary assailant. It makes him unaccountably warm. His imagination has always been quite good, especially where Aziraphale was concerned. 

The restaurateur returns with Aziraphale’s desserts. She’s brought two spoons for the rice pudding, but Crowley sits back and takes a sip of his oversweet chai. Aziraphale is going to eat and watching his reactions fuels some of Crowley’s most vivid fantasies. When Aziraphale closes his eyes in bliss at the sweet sugar on his tongue, Crowley imagines that he’d look the same when Crowley sucks him off. When Aziraphale gives a small almost obscene moan of satisfaction, Crowley imagines him making that noise when Aziraphale’s cock slides into his wet pussy. When Aziraphale wiggles in his chair, Crowley imagines him making those same movements as Aziraphale impales himself on Crowley’s cock. 

Aziraphale does not disappoint. Crowley had heard the rice pudding here was sublime. His trousers are getting uncomfortably tight, but this is gold star fantasy fodder and he can’t look away. Fantasies are all he has . . . until Aziraphale catches up with him. Until Aziraphale is ready. Then they’ll just go off together and Heaven and Hell and God’s Ineffable Plan can just bugger off. 

Aziraphale catches him staring. Crowley raises an eyebrow.  _ Going to stop the show?  _

“You’re a fan of this be bop band--” 

“Rock,” Crowley says automatically. 

Aziraphale continues like he hasn’t spoken. “What did you think? Was that a good performance? The rest of the crowd seemed to like it.”

Crowley grins. “I think it was phenomenal, but I like rock n’ roll and Queen is one of the best bands ever.” 

Aziraphale considers. “I liked the poetry quite a bit.” 

“The poetry? Do you mean the lyrics?” 

Aziraphale nods. “Yes. Brilliant poetry.” He pauses, considers Crowley. “You didn’t . . uhm. . . influence any of that, did you?” 

Crowley frowns. “What? No.”

“Only some of the lyrics, they . . . well, I thought you and the lead singer might know each other. Like Mick Jagger.” 

“I don’t go around drinking with the lead singers of all the best bands, Aziraphale.” He thinks back over the set list. “Which ones did you think I might have had a hand in?” he asks. “Bohemian Rhapsody? I assure you Beezelbub is not putting a devil aside for me.” 

Aziraphale spears a piece of gulab jamun with his fork. He brings it up to his lips, but doesn’t eat.  _ Cock tease,  _ Crowley thinks. “There were several lines that really seemed like they fit you, I thought.” He puts the dessert in his mouth. A bit of honey has run down his fork onto his fingers. Crowley wants to reach out, take his hand and lick it off. Aziraphale puts his fork down and considers Crowley. Then he surprises the hell out of him and begins to sing softly. “I want to break free, I want to break free, oh how I want to break free . . God knows I want to break free.” 

“I never thought I would hear you singing Queen, angel.” 

Aziraphale scowls. He picks his fork back up and looks down at his dessert. “There’s no need to poke fun--” 

“Who said I was poking fun?” Aziraphale glances up at him. Crowley tilts his head down so he can catch Aziraphale’s eyes over the rim of his glasses. “Seriously, angel. Not poking fun. Just . . . surprised. You liked it and you remembered the lyrics and you can sing the melody!” 

“I have ears.” 

Aziraphale puts the last piece of gulab jamun in his mouth. Crowley pushes his glasses back up on his nose so Aziraphale can’t see him staring at the gold hoop that hangs in his left ear. Crowley thinks about how soft that earlobe was between his fingers when he’d clipped it on the angel earlier. He thinks about how much he’d like to nibble on that ear while he fucks Aziraphale senseless. He cannot seem to get his thoughts under control tonight. 

Crowley clears his throat. “So you think I’d like to break free? From who?”

Aziraphale says nothing, but tilts his head to the side as if Crowley has asked a very stupid question. Crowley supposes he has. He nods. “All right, I get it. But Freddie Mercury came up with that on his own.”

Aziraphale looks into his empty dessert bowl. “Then there was that one about living forever.” 

Crowley had gone very still next to Aziraphale in the crowd when that number came up.  _ There's no chance for us, It's all decided for us . . .  _ “That one is a bit of a downer,” Crowley complains. “I’m not like that.” 

“Who waits forever anyway,” Aziraphale sings softly, sadly. He does not have a lovely singing voice, but Crowley doesn’t care about that. 

Crowley throws his hand across the table, brushes his knuckles against the back of Aziraphale’s hand gripping the glass of lassi. Aziraphale looks up at him sharply. “Hasn’t been that long,” Crowley says seriously.  _ I’ve loved you for 6000 years, _ he thinks.  _ I can wait 6000 more if necessary. _

Aziraphale’s eyes look glassy in the candlelight. He opens his mouth to reply when the restaurant owner appears at their table. She raises an eyebrow at their hands touching, looking from one to the other. “We are closing now,” she says, “you gents will need to be off.” 

Aziraphale sits back, pulls his hand away from Crowley’s. He turns towards her, gives her a grateful smile. “Yes, of course. Thank you, the dessert was quite excellent.” He pulls aside his coat, begins to reach for a billfold that isn’t there. He looks down at his clothes and then back up at Crowley. “I’m afraid . . “ he begins. 

“Got it,” Crowley says. He stands suddenly, and drops a twenty pound note on the table. Then, because he knows he’s being rude, he adds another twenty pound note as an apology. Aziraphale smiles at him. 

Outside, most of the shops are closed. Only a few people on the street. It’s past two AM. 

“I think I’ll just walk back to the shop,” Aziraphale says. “It’s only a little ways and it’s a nice night.” 

“Let me walk you,” Crowley blurts. 

Aziraphale straightens his shoulders. “Crowley, you know--”

“Just part of the way.” 

“Crowley-”

“Look at you! You look like a proper hu-- uh, Queen fan. No one would think you’re actually a . . a . . . .a square!” 

“A what?” Aziraphale says, confused. “Is that like a cock tease?”

_ You don’t know the half of it,  _ Crowley thinks. But Aziraphale hasn’t told him no yet, so he starts to shake his hips and swing his arms side to side. “You don’t like crazy music,” he sings. He’s doing his best imitation of Freddie Mercury impersonating Elvis Presley. It’s awful. “You don't like rockin' bands, you just want to go to a movie show, and sit their holdin' hands . . . “

“Oh, from the show!” Aziraphale says, pleased. 

Crowley keeps singing. “You're so square, baby I don't care . . .” 

The lights in the restaurant behind them go off. The street lamp has burned out, and it’s very dark suddenly. Crowley is deeply aware of how alone they are, how close Aziraphale is to him. How good he looks in his borrowed clothes. His hands itch. He wants to grab the angel, press their bodies close, slide his hands into the sides of the tank top and press his fingers into the lush curves of Aziraphale’s back. Wants to slide his mouth across those pink lips and taste the leftover sweetness of dessert lingering there. Wants to take Aziraphale back to his flat, strip these clothes off him and spend his time exploring all the places he’s been dreaming of. 

But Aziraphale is shaking his head. And Crowley thinks, _ too fast _ . “Crowley, this . . . this was wonderful. I really enjoyed the concert and I’m glad you talked me into it. I wish . . .” he trails off. “I wish the evening didn’t have to end.” He takes a step forward, and Crowley holds his breath. Aziraphale reaches out a hand and tentatively hooks two of his fingers into Crowley’s. He gives them a squeeze. “Maybe next time we could go to a film,” he says. “Might be nice.” 

He gives Crowley’s hand a final squeeze and then sets off down the street in the direction of the bookshop. He doesn’t look back. 

Crowley turns towards the Bentley, begins to sing softly under his breath. “God knows I want to break free . . “ 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> All of Queen's performances at Wembley that night can be found on YouTube. I highly recommend this one:[(You're So Square) Baby I Don't Care](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8o1zG1tAHnY)


End file.
